


Those Who Live Among You

by cosmic_medusa



Series: We Three Kings [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27909910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_medusa/pseuds/cosmic_medusa
Summary: Cas finds the best burger joint in town for date night. Afterwards, he feels foolish for wondering if where to go would be his biggest problem of the day.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: We Three Kings [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1306616
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Those Who Live Among You

_You may purchase male or female slaves from among the foreigners who live among you. You may also purchase the children of such resident foreigners, including those who have been born in your land._ _You may treat them as your property._ _You may treat your slaves like this, but your relatives, must never be treated this way._ (Leviticus 25:44-46 NLT)

  
***

It was Cas’ turn to plan date-night.

Though he wasn’t allowed to _call_ it date night. Dean was notoriously resistant to any “chick labels.” Living together, sharing a bed, and bills, and brothering to Sam—not gay at all. Having dinner out once a week? Cool. A movie now and then? Fine.

But referring to any of it in the language of a lifelong commitment? Gay.

And if there was anything Dean Winchester wasn’t, it was gay.

Cas smiled to himself as he scanned through the restaurant section of the paper. The week before, Dean had taken him out for Peruvian food a couple towns over, and then an Indie movie Cas had been hounding him to see. Dean had fallen asleep during the movie after eating a tremendously large bag of popcorn, clearly to fill himself up from the dinner he’d been barely been able to swallow.

Cas had thoroughly enjoyed the movie and loved the food. Dean hadn’t complained through it all. It was stupidly self-sacrificing and utterly endearing, and Cas was going to find the best bacon cheeseburger in driving distance, cost be damned.

Each and every review he had found thus far had raved about the burgers and fries of one place. On the surface it seemed perfect—a short drive from the hospital and only a little longer from Dean’s garage, awesomely priced. 

Unfortunately, in addition to the restaurant, it boasted the “best bar in three states.”

Cas wasn’t sure what to do about that. One the one hand, it seemed cruel to dangle temptation in front of Dean, a reminder of what he’d given up to support Sam and solidify his relationship with Cas. On the other, it seemed foolish and wrong not to trust his ability to resist that temptation, and enjoy his favorite dinner without wanting to leap across the bar and down a fifth of Jack.

“Dr. Morgan,” a friendly voice said. Cas jumped and spun around to see Anna, holding a cup of soup in one hand and a sandwich in the other, standing behind him in the hospital’s cafeteria. “Everything alright?”

“Dr. Milton. Fine.” He hastily moved to shove the restaurant section away.

“May I join you?”

“Of course.”

She took a seat across from him and peeled the lid off the soup. “You seemed a little...troubled.”

“No. I’m fine. Mr. Cohen went home today. Mrs. Taylor will go tomorrow.”

“I’d love to send Mrs. Taylor out today,” she sighed.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. But if you wanted me to run any tests—”

“I was joking,” Anna said gently, her small, but warm smile gracing her features. Cas was embarrassed to say it always made him blush. “You’re off the clock, Cas. Though great work on both of them. Mrs. Taylor is...well. Like I said. Wish we could get rid of her sooner.”

“She makes me very, very glad not to be a nurse. And very, very grateful to the ones who are.”

“Why do you think I send them champagne on the hospital’s budget every Christmas?” Anna chuckled, blowing into a spoonful of soup. “So. Other than work, is everything alright?”

“Yes. Very well. Thank you again for coming to our party awhile back.”

“I enjoyed it. You have a very nice family.” She glanced toward the paper. “Going out?”

“I was trying to find a good burger place for Dean.”

“KGB’s. No question. Don’t let the name fool you—they are all American. If there’s one thing you can say for this great country, it’s that we can grill a hamburger.” She unwrapped her sandwich. “I have their number in my blackberry if you want.”

“No. No, I’ve...heard of it. The reviews speak very highly.”

Anna sat up a little straighter and focused ever-more intently on him. “What is it, Cas,” she said, in that way of gently demanding an answer rather than raise her voice in question.

“I’ve heard they have a very large, well stocked bar.”

“That’s true.”

“And, well...” he trailed off.

“Ah,” Anna said, in a tone that said she understood his worry. “You think he wouldn’t be able to handle it?”

She didn’t even need to say ‘Dean.’ Or clarify ‘it.’ If Cas weren’t already in love with someone else, he could very well fall head over heels for her.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I don’t want to seem insensitive by making reservations at a bar. I also don’t want to deny him the best hamburger around because I assume he’ll relapse.”

Anna nodded and chewed her sandwich slowly. When she’d swallowed she said “I’m not an addiction expert. But you know who I’d ask?”

Cas nodded. He’d thought it himself. “Sam’s counselors. Or maybe even Sam. They’d know what to do.”

“I was going to say Dean.”

“Dean?” Cas asked, sitting a little straighter. “But—”

“I know none of the addiction counselors may like it, but, if I were addicted to something...I’d appreciate being _asked_. I’d be angry if someone avoided something because they assumed I couldn’t handle it, and angry if someone assumed I could. I’d appreciate anyone who just weighed in on my feelings.” She gave him her warm, small smile once again. “I only met him once, and briefly, but...I think Dean spends enough time worrying after others that he’d probably appreciate being able to have his own opinion be considered from time to time. Just like you do, Cas.”

An obnoxious, animated ring-tone interrupted their conversation. Anna reached into her white jacket pocket and spoke briefly into her phone with a clipped “Anna Milton...of course...I’ll be right there.”

Cas nodded as she re-wrapped her sandwich and placed the lid on her soup.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and he knew she meant it. “I so rarely get to eat with friends.”

Cas beamed shamelessly when she mentioned ‘friends’. “Nothing to worry about, Anna. You’re still the boss.”

“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t. Sometimes I wish I’d gone you’re way, and had a family, and—” she halted, and smiled, again, warmly. “Your party was wonderful. I hope you’ll consider inviting me back.”

“Of course,” Cas said, as Anna whisked away her unfinished meal and he reached for his phone to call Dean.

***

Dean had given a horribly uncomfortable pause after Cas had explained that he’d found a great place to eat, but there was a giant, well known bar attached.

For a moment, Cas had hated Anna. He should have assumed being faced with drinking would overwhelm his partner. And then, Dean had said:

“Dude...what the hell do you think I’m gonna do? Leap across the bar and down a fifth of Jack?”

And Cas had been so embarrassed he couldn’t answer. And at the same time, grateful Dean was so constant and predictable that he’d been able to imagine, word for word, what his reaction would be.

Cas had walked the twenty-some blocks. Dean had parked the Impala outside and was ready and waiting, drinking a Coke and watching one of the many mute televisions. They’d ordered a chopped salad appetizer—purely for Cas’ sake, though he’d forced Dean to eat the greens he’d scooped on his unwilling plate—and then split the Double Agent bacon cheeseburger entree with curly fries, which, though he loathed to admit it, was unbelievably delicious.

“Dude,” Dean sighed between bites, “if it were between saving the lives of you and Sam or the chefs of this burger? I’d so save the chefs of this burger.”

“Of course you would,” Cas said with a grin. When he first met Dean, he wouldn’t have recognized the sarcasm: there were people he knew who _would_ let the Hamburglar live at the expense of loved ones. He was related to some of them.

“So Anna recommended this huh?” he smirked, eyes glowing and teasing.

“Don't be dirty,” Cas scolded.

“You are so sweet on her. I don’t blame you. You don’t think she’s into doubling her fun, do you?”

Cas was about to retaliate when a loud English bark called across the room, and he saw the tall, lean form of his co-worker, Peter Balthazar, bounding toward him, drink in hand.

“As I live and breathe!” Balthazar called. “Dr. Morgan!”

Peter Balthazar, the hospital’s emergency pediatrician, was dressed as he normally did for work--in a t-shirt and jeans. Of course, when on the clock, he wore the standard white labcoat over them. It was one of the many, many infractions that drove the staffs of every hospital that employed him to madness. He’d survived at Cas’ only because it was out in middle-America, where highly trained and unquestionably brilliant doctors were in short supply, and Balthazar, as maddening as he could be to the administration, was a thorough, attentive, and adored doctor by the children he treated.

“Peter,” Cas said, smiling warmly.

“And who might these handsome lads be?” a second man, shorter, darker, and with a distinctly Scottish accent, asked, swirling his own drink.

“This here,” Balthazar declared, “is Cas Morgan, my favorite doctor of our humble little hospital. Excluding our boss, the red-haired fox.”

“Please don’t—” Cas began.

“He hates when I degrade women,” Peter cut him off, winking. “And this here is Dean, the man Cas left his millions for. Dean, Cas, meet Fergie.”

“Fitzgerald McCloud,” the man said, extending his hand. “God help anyone who calls me what this bloody fool dares to.”

Dean’s phone rang. He took it out and checked the caller ID. “Sammy,” he told Cas, hitting ‘talk.’ “Hey,” he said brightly, stepping away from the table.

“ _Ah_ , Sam! How is our young friend?” Balthazar asked.

“Good,” Cas assured him. “Thinking about going back to school. Part-time, first, to be sure he can handle it.”

“He can’t handle school?” McCloud said skeptically.

“He’s working. Doing very well.”

“What’s his field?”

“Retail, for now. He works in a book store. Part-time.”

“And yet, can’t go to school,” he scoffed.

“Ferguson,” Balthazar scolded, rolling his eyes. “McCloud here is a highly successful financier,” he explained.

“I see,” Cas said. “And you met...”

“We expats just so happen to have found the same Pub. Here, in the middle of the American desert, we sought out the same perfect Guinness. And, low and behold, here in middle-America, we found them. Just like mother made. ” He glanced toward Dean, who was hovering by the front door, smiling into his phone. “May I ask what brings you two here? Everything alright? Still on the wagon, I presume?”

Cas warmed hearing his colleague’s genuine concern. For all his bluster and issues with authority, he was a genuinely caring person: though, like Dean, he’d deny his softness to anyone who dared breach the subject. “We’re fine. I heard the burgers here were the best around and thought Dean would enjoy trying it.”

“A man-date,” McCloud said. “Well, I’ll drink to that. And to finding someone to abandon your millions for. Personally, I wouldn’t abandon mine for anything other than... _billions_.”

Dean crossed back toward their booth, phone in hand, dark green eyes still sharp on the newcomer. “See you then,” he said to his cell, and slapped his phone shut. “Sam and Andy are gonna swing by,” he announced, hopping into the booth next to Cas.

“All’s well, I presume?” Peter asked.

“Yup. Group’s out early.”

“Group?” McCloud cocked an eyebrow.

“Nar-anon.”

“Ah. So, your brother is one of our many anonymous youth lost down the road of perdition.”

“Excuse you?” Dean said darkly.

“Don’t mind him—” Balthazar said quickly. “You see, where we’re from, we were equally as likely to be suckling whiskey-laced milk from our mothers’ teat as we were conditioned to stand at the first note of ‘God save the Queen.’ This wave of American sobriety is quite...New Agey to us.”

“No offense intended,” the Scot grinned, and took a deliberate sip of his drink.

“Would you two like to sit with us?” Cas said, hoping to defuse the situation. Dean shot a lethal glance his way.

“If it’s not a bother—” Peter said, at the same time Fitzgerald said “Delighted!” Balthazar cast a withering ‘behave’ glance in his friend’s direction and, for the first time in years, Cas felt himself stiffen, pride and anger boiling. Who were these two to decide that Cas and Dean were the children, unaccustomed to their ‘sophisticated’ ways? He’d put up with that attitude years ago because, being the youngest, he’d had to. And since, he’d, on occasion, put up with it out of Dean when it came to dealing with Sam, or Sam when it came to dealing with Dean, because Winchesters would be Winchesters. And it had paid off, as he’d seen with their loyalty.

“Cas,” McCloud drolled, swinging into his seat, “Petie here tells me you’re off the Morgan clan. _The_ Morgans, of Boston, New York, Aspen, Los Angeles, Palm Beach and Paris?”

“My father is the President of a prominent system of hospitals,” he said dully. Beside, he felt Dean going increasingly rigid.

“Your father is the chief of the largest health network in the nation, and they’re expanding. Saw him ghosting around the bottom of the Forbes 500 last month. And yet, here you are, out in the middle of nowhere, moonlighting under another over-privileged fake red-head capitalizing on her former professors' questionable admiration. So, may I ask why?”

“McCloud,” Balthazar said, “I don’t quite think these boys share our sense of humor.”

“Pity on you, mates.”

Dean was about to launch at him. “Listen—” he snapped, when Peter cut in with “I don’t know about you, but I’m a little dry.”

“Right on. Here’s a fiver. Buy yourself a girl.”

“Actually, Fergie, this run’s on you.”

The Scot huffed. “Gentlemen. Anything from the bar?”

“We’re good,” Dean shot.

“Saintly, it seems,” he snapped, and rose with an heir of grandeur, sauntering off.

“I’m sorry,” Balthazar pleaded. “To both of you. He really is more bark than bite.”

“He’s an asshole,” Dean stated.

“No, he’s British. As am I. And our humor can be more biting and direct than American's. It doesn’t mean he means half of what he says.”

“I don’t remember Mr. Bean tempting an alcoholic to relapse.”

“As I’ve said before—this ‘alcoholic’ thing is a bit strange to us. Where we come from, _everyone_ would be in AA.”

“Petie!” McCloud called from the bar. “They’re out of your brand.”

“Excuse me a moment,” he said. “I am, truly, sorry if he offended you.”

“It’s alright,” Cas smiled. He felt Dean’s ferocious gaze on him and ignored it. Peter flipped his middle finger toward his friend and strode toward the bar.

“Dude, I don’t _get_ you,” Dean snapped.

“Please, let’s not do this here, Dean.”

“One minute you only want people who are good, and straight, and honest around. The next—”

“Neither you, nor Sam, nor Peter, nor Gabriel are completely good and straight and honest,” Cas snapped. “But all of your are trying to be better. Peter has his faults, but I _identify_ with him, Dean.”

“You’re _nothing_ like him.”

“We’ve both fled enormous wealth and privilege. We’ve both found a home we’re happy with, here. And, he is a devoted doctor, Dean. Terrible with paperwork and attitude, but the children he treats love him, and their parents love him more. He’s my colleague. And my friend.”

Dean took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said—lowly, directly. “I like this place—the burgers are as awesome as they say.”

Cas read, loud and clear: _I’m glad you trusted me here. I’m glad you trust me,_ **period** _._

“For what it’s worth—his friend, I don’t much care for.”

“Whatever nationality he is, he’s a jackass.”

“Absolutely. But please, maintain your temper?”

Dean sighed. “I’ll be on good behavior, _Ma_.” He brightened suddenly, grinned, and waved. “Sammy!”

Sam and Andy arrived through the main door. Sam beamed at his brother and crossed the room in those big, loping, giant strides of his. Andy smiled and waved as he approached the table.  
  
"Hi all!" he said cheerfully. "Thanks for letting me crash."  
  
"It's good to see you, Andy," Cas greeted him.  
  
"Ew," Sam wrinkled his nose at the remnants of Cas' burger and the remaining fries. "Cas, what did you let him eat?"  
  
"Don't henpeck me," Dean chided, grabbing a nearby chair and swinging it close to his own. "You're grinning like a school girl. The both of you."  
  
“Guess, what?” Andy said, finding a chair of his own. “Sam and I earned our sixth month merit badges!” he displayed a sobriety token.

“You’re a bigger dork than Sammy,” Dean said.

“Shutup. You know what these things go for on the black market of the in-treatment but unreformed?”

“Not enough to buy a fifth,” Sam said with an eye roll, hauling Dean’s plate close to him and scooping the remainders of their salad appetizer on it. He grabbed up his brother’s fork and dug in, ignoring Dean’s bark of “that was my dessert fork, you freak!”

Sam mumbled something that sounded like “share Cas’.” Dean swore under his breath, but smiled as he did, especially when Sam reached over and snagged a few fries, chewing happily. It was all signs of a good day, and the old behaviors of sharing everything—with the exception of Dean’s car and Sam’s laptop. Growing up as they had, they’d often compromised, shared, and made do with what they had. Territorial they’d never been: quite a revelation to Cas, whose brain was stuffed full of the invisible borders his brothers had laid throughout their mansions.

“That’s not the only reason he’s excited,” Sam explained. Andy blushed.

“You’re breaking the code of confidence!”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean. Guess what’s got Andy riled up?”

Dean leaned forward and looked intently at Andy’s face. “You met a girl. She hasn’t slept with you yet, but you think you’re getting close.”

Andy’s eyes widened. “How’d you know?”

“It’s his expertise,” Sam grinned.

“Word to the wise my friend,” Dean advised, “don’t let her make you wait too long. That’s how you wake up one morning with a hangover, three kids, and a ring on your finger.”

“There’s nothing wrong with kids and a ring, Dean,” Cas scolded.

“It’s not like that,” Andy jumped in. “She’s...special. _Really_. Like, ‘makes me want to be a better man,’ special. Or at least finish my Master’s and stay sober.”

“She’s pretty cute,” Sam agreed. “And really sweet.”

“I kinda think...she could be the one, you know? Don’t laugh,” Andy pleaded. He was fully blushing now, and smiling shyly. “She makes me _want_ three kids and two rings and a dog named Sparky. Without the hangover.”

“Congratulations,” Cas said seriously.

“Ah! Another Sober Superbowler,” Balthazar said, plopping down with a fresh glass. “Boys, forgive my blatant indulgence. I fear I don’t have your willpower. Shall I take it elsewhere?”

“It’s good. Look, we’re armed,” Andy said, proudly displaying his token.

“Well...I drink to your far finer health. Do put in a prayer for my liver, will you?”

“Why are you eating in a bar?” Sam asked, eyes darting accusingly to Dean.

“Because they grill the best damn burger in five states. And it’s not just a bar. It’s a bar _and_ restaurant,” Dean defended. “Besides, I’ve got Dr. Dread along, in case I feel the urge to stray.”

Sam smiled in Cas’ direction. It brought a warmth to Cas’ chest, seeing the affection and appreciation of the younger man for looking after his big brother--like he was some kind of hero. He understood how little brothers could be addictive in their own peculiar way.

“I’d get faster service in the Soviet Bloody Union than I’m getting here,” McCloud growled, sauntering back. "Despite its quaint little attempt at capitalizing on a failed communist enterprise, the lack of service and failure to refill top-shelf brands is hardly going to make me empty my pockets."

“Mind your manners,” Balthazar said. “Boys, this is my good friend Fitzgerald McCloud. Financier, philanthropist, Scot-expat and all-around jag-off, not unlike yours truly. I trust you won’t hold that against him.”

Sam’s eyes were huge. He gripped the edge of the table and somehow, without moving his chair, seemed to rotate a good five inches closer to his older brother. Dean cocked an eyebrow and gave a nod to Peter’s friend. “This here’s Sam--my brother--and Andy, his friend.”

“Enchanted,” he said, then turned, dramatically, to Balthazar. “Petey, I am choking for a fag. Anyone else? Fancy a fag, mates?”

“A _what_?” Dean barked.

“Cigarette,” Balthazar quickly explained. “He wants a cigarette. It’s British slang.”

“No. No we don’t—we can’t—” Sam bolted to his feet. “Andy, I have a curfew.”

Andy raised his eyebrows. “But...it’s not even eight yet.”

“It...it got moved. It’s earlier. We have to get back. I have to get _back_.”

“Okay. Alright, take it easy, man. I’ll get you home.” Andy smiled, a little nervously, and got to his feet.

“Shame,” McCloud said.

“Are you boys alright to drive?” Balthazar chanced, looking, for once, sober and concerned.

“We’re fine. Sorry,” Andy smiled. Sam looked ready to run for the front door.

“Sammy—” Dean started.

“Sammy, is it?” McCloud snorted. “That’s adorable. Just felt my uterus drop.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Dean. It’s fine. I’m fine,” Sam snapped, and bolted. Andy grabbed Sam’s discarded sweatshirt.

“Don’t worry,” he said quickly, “I’ll get him home and stay with him until I’m sure he’s alright. I’m sure he’s just...he just gets nervous, sometimes.”

“You have him call me,” Dean said lowly.

“I will. Don’t worry. Sorry.” He took off quickly, pulling his keys as he went.

“Once an addict, always an addict,” the Scot scoffed.

“What the hell is shoved up your international asshole?” Dean barked.

“Dean,” Cas began, talking over Balthazar, who said “now, let’s all calm down—”

“I will knock your smarmy ass back to the goddamn marshes it crawled out of.”

“I’d drop a dime to see you try,” McCloud snorted.

“Dean please—” Cas began.

“Let’s all just—” Balthazar started.

“Cas,” Dean declared, “let’s get the check.”

“By all means,” McCloud encouraged, “there’s nothing I love more than watching two grown men scramble to pay their bill.”

To Dean’s credit, Cas would later think, he’d left a very large tip after hollering down the Scot, the Brit, and even Cas, all while dropping his card and covering the bill, and, through all the stress, not once, moving toward the bar.

***

On the drive home, Dean called Sam five times in a row before sending a text. He sat staring at his phone during the next hour, every once and awhile hitting “call” once more. Cas made sure his own was charged and sat dutifully by Dean’s side. They both jumped when the phone finally rang, and Dean nearly slammed the button through the back of the phone hitting ‘talk.’

“Sammy?” he barked. Then his face fell. “Andy,” he murmured. He listened quietly for a few minutes, then said “okay. Thanks. Thanks, man, I mean it.” He sighed when he hung up. “Sammy got home safe and sound, took his Valium, and is out already.”

“He didn’t indicate what had set him off?”

“No. Andy said he stuck around, checked with Ash—there’s no new curfew.” Dean rubbed his eyes. “He filled Ash in, and they’re gonna hang awhile, make sure he stays asleep and all.” _And doesn’t sneak out or self-injure_ went unspoken.

“Tomorrow,” Cas said gently, “we’ll go over together, and talk things through. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.”

“I can’t go back down this road, Cas. I don’t know if I have it in me to come back this time.”

“Stop getting ahead of yourself. He hasn’t done anything wrong. Anxiety is a part of all this aftermath. We’ve seen it from him before, we’ll see it again. And he has good friends in Ash and Andy. They won’t let him go without a fight.”

“The fight’s not the point,” Dean snapped. “We’ve had ‘the fight.’ The therapists have had ‘the fight.’ The point is, what the _hell,_ after all this, does he think is worthy of bringing up ‘the fight?’”

Cas had no answer for that. And, secretly, he was glad, because he knew Dean didn’t want or expect one. Not from him.

***

Sam spent most all of his weekends with them. If he didn’t, it was usually because he had scheduled shifts at the bookstore, and then he made a special effort to spend at least one night during the week at theirs. He frequently came by for dinner, sometimes with friends, sometimes on his own, and sometimes he just met them at restaurants, and he spoke to Dean daily, often several times, even if he _wasn’t_ having anxiety attacks.

Sam and Dean were not Sam _or_ Dean without contact with one another. It was such a part of their well-being, their DNA, that separating them seemed unholy and unthinkable.

And yet, in the week following their impromptu meeting with Balthazar and his friend, Sam canceled his weekend plans. He sent texts instead of answering his phone. Andy called, assuring them that Sam hadn’t relapsed, wasn’t drinking or using, and was going to his meetings, but admitted that he’d become very quiet, withdrawn, and ever-more anxious. Dean drove over to the house only to have Ash tell him that Sam had been taking his Valium immediately after meetings and vanished to his room by nine o’clock.

Dean texted his brother saying, if he didn’t talk, he’d call Alan and Missouri. Sam arrived on their doorstep the next day.

***

“I’m fine,” Sam insisted, the fourteen billion times Dean asked. “I’m sorry. I just had a hard time with someone new.”

Dean didn’t believe him. Cas didn’t either, but he was willing to let it go. He loved both men, but wasn’t accustomed to their rhythm of burying some things and openly pursuing, sometimes relentlessly, others.

But Dean wasn't walking away from this one. He might bury all sorts of his own feelings, but his brother would never be allowed to get away with the same.

“You bolted, Sammy. You took one look at that guy and ran.”

“Look it—it was a hard night.”

“No, it wasn’t. You were fine. You were _good_. Then you weren’t. I want to know why.”

“I’ve _told_ you why.”

To Dean’s credit, he left it at that. For a bit. The three of them watched a movie and went upstairs without a fight; Sam in the guestroom: Dean, refusing to change and instead charging down to his brother's room room fully clothed.

Cas didn’t like to think he was one to eavesdrop. When he’d padded down the hall, it was only to say goodnight. Nothing more. He’d hesitated because the Winchesters were clearly in an active discussion. That was all.

“Dean, I swear, I’m not using or drinking or anything. You can check with Alan, they tested this week.”

“Godamnit, Sammy, that is not the _point_! There weren’t secrets anymore. You had stopped lying. Now you see some English jackass in a bar, and you’re out the door?”

“Scottish,” Sam muttered. “And I’m not lying, Dean! I promised you I wouldn’t.”

“Then _what_ _is wrong_?” Dean’s voice dropped, softening. “Sammy, whatever it is, I’m not gonna get mad. If he was a dealer or something—“

“He wasn’t!” Sam nearly shouted. “He wasn’t, I’ve never seen him before. He was a friend of Cas’ and I got nervous, that’s all. I’ve never seen him before or since. I don’t know his real name and he doesn’t know mine.”

“Sammy,” Dean cajoled, “he didn’t know Cas. He knew that crazy Brit doc-friend of his. His name is Fitzgerald McCloud and now he knows you’re Sam Winchester. And you’re lying to me. Why? I thought we were passed this.”

“I’m not lying! I’ll be fine. Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen, okay? You can bring him by and I’ll be fine. I just need to know, that’s all. It was just me being crazy. That’s it.”

“C’mon, I know you, man. You’re _lying_. What I don’t get is _why_.” No answer. “Sammy, I won’t get mad at you. I won’t get rid of you. And we’re safe, okay? You don’t have to hide with me. Just tell me what’s up.” He dropped his voice, even softer. “Nothing, kiddo— _nothing_ , will make me up and leave. Okay? You know this, we’ve been _through_ this. So c’mon. Talk to me.”

“Please,” Sam begged. “ _Please_ , Dean. Just...leave this one alone. I promise, I won’t lie, or use or drink. Just like now. We can just...be like we are now.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No! Dean, please—”

“Sammy, the way we are now? Is you lying because you think I’ll hate you or something. And me imagining the absolute worst case scenario, like him stabbing infants in bassinets while you wait for a hit.”

“No! Dean, have some goddamn faith in me! I’d never—”

“Sam, when I said I’d die for you, you need to know—I’d _die_ for you. Whatever you felt, at the time, you had to do? I’d _still_ die. And I’d be glad to. Do you _hear_ me? You won’t make me change, no matter what you did, or thought you had to. It’s gone, it’s done. It’s _forgiven_.”

Sam’s voice broke. “I thought I’d die, Dean,” he managed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Talk to me,” Dean whispered, so low Cas barely heard. 

Cas had forced himself to back, carefully, away. He hadn’t wanted to. But he also knew that there were times Dean needed Sam and Sam needed Dean, and no matter how bad his curiosity, he needed to try and honor that commitment.

He crept silently away from their door and perched on the edge of his bed. Waiting for Dean. Waiting for Sam to confide in Dean. Waiting for a revelation, a pronouncement of truth, that the Winchesters were the first to provide in his stupid, over- privileged, little life.

***

Dean arrived stonefaced.

Cas sat on the edge of their bed, watching as Dean put on a dark shirt, dark jeans, and a dark flannel. He took off the necklace he _never_ took off and left it on his side of the nightstand.

“Go look after Sam,” he ordered.

Cas listened to his footsteps down the stairs and heard the car start. He waited until the engine had rumbled away in the night before he ventured down the hall to find Sam rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed. When Cas pulled the younger man into his arms, he lost track of who was shaking harder, and just held on like they were the only two people left on a vast, dark Earth.

***

When Dean came home, Cas was wide-awake, laying half-propped on pillows with a sleeping Sam curled against his leg. At first, the younger Winchester had suggested skipping his Valium and staying awake for Dean, but when Cas had gently reminded him that withdrawal was inevitable, he’d relented, taken his dose, and fallen asleep soon after.

Cas heard the shower running. The sound of drawers opening and closing. The sound of the washer being run. And then the sound of Dean padding up the stairs and down the hall to their room. More drawers, more closures. Then his inevitable arrival in the guest room, where he got into bed behind Sam and yanked him away from Cas and into his own chest, holding tight in a fiercely protective, almost animalistic, way. A mother bear.

A father wolf.

“What did you do?” Cas managed. He searched his partner’s face but there was no trace of softness, of worry, of anxiety, of regret.

“What had to be done,” Dean said coldly, and closed his eyes, chin resting on the top of his brother’s head.

***

Cas has a double scheduled the next day. It’s not until he’s well into the second shift that Balthazar approaches, looking surprisingly serious, and begs for a word. Cas circles back to him an hour later and Peter tells him that Fitzgerald McCloud of the Pub was found early this morning in an alley, beaten close to death, with packets full of heroin and cocaine stuffed in his pockets. When he recovered, he’d be looking at charges of possession, dealing, trafficking, potential money-laundering, and there were other whispers, about drugging minors, about prostitution, about tax evasion, and Peter just doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand.

And Cas is so very, very, _very_ , afraid to try.


End file.
